Uncle Rudy
by redbuttonhole
Summary: A drabble of backstory for the mention of Uncle Rudy in HLV. We learn a bit about Rudy's proclivities, and the effects they had on the Holmes family. Mycroft is an ass.


John came home from the surgery to find the Holmes brothers sitting in the lounge, regarding each other with silent animosity.

"Hello, John," said Mycroft without taking his eyes off his brother. "Glad you're home, perhaps you can talk some sense into him."

John hung up his coat. "What about? Issue of national security?"

"Not this time, no," said Mycroft. "A family matter."

At this, Sherlock narrowed his eyes and lightly huffed his annoyance.

"A funeral," said Mycroft, clearly resisting an urge to respond to Sherlock's sulking directly. "Sherlock is refusing to attend."

"A funeral?" repeated John. "You don't go to weddings, why would you go to funerals?"

"Believe me, I wouldn't. Pointless, sentimental affairs, but our Mother will make my life very difficult if we don't show."

"So who died?" asked John, not sure what part he should play in this family conflict involving the world's oddest family.

"Our uncle Rudy," replied Mycroft. "Mummy's brother."

"To whom she hadn't spoken in at least twenty years," said Sherlock, breaking his silence at last. "I refuse to participate in this pageant of hypocrisy."

"Twenty years?" said John. "Bad blood then?"

Mycroft pulled a face. "Mummy didn't completely approve of Rudy's... lifestyle."

"Uncle Rudy's lifestyle was none of Mummy's business," snapped Sherlock. "Or it wouldn't have been, if *you* hadn't gotten involved." Sherlock continued to stare daggers at his brother, but it was clear that the rest of this speech was intended for John. "You will perhaps not be surprised to learn that my dear brother (and Sherlock's voice dripped with sarcasm here) has always been as much of a snitch and a busybody as he is today. The only difference is that now he reports to the Queen, when before he reported only to Mummy."

"It was for your own good, Sherlock. I was trying to protect you – to prevent anything... _nasty_ from happening that might have traumatized you."

"Uncle Rudy never laid a hand on me and you knew it. You would certainly have known if he had. No, it was the worst kind of prejudice that directed your actions – the small-minded assumption that just because a man is a bit different –"

But Sherlock stopped suddenly, as if loathe to finish that thought.

"Different?" said John. "Different how?"

Mycroft smirked. "Uncle Rudy had a certain proclivity," he said. "For pearls and stockings and high heeled shoes."

John felt his eyes grow big. "He was a... cross-dresser?"

"A perfectly innocent habit," said Sherlock. "He never harmed anyone. Least of all me."

"When Sherlock was very young, and I was away at school, our mother used to rely on Uncle Rudy for babysitting duties."

"Best afternoons of my childhood," said Sherlock, his eyes gazing sightlessly at the fireplace. "Sometimes he was Uncle Rudy in tweed blazer and loafers. Sometimes he was Auntie Rudy in pearls and pumps. It made no difference to me."

"But our mother had no idea. She had caught Rudy in his full regalia a couple of times when they were younger, but he had promised her it was a youthful experiment, and long since out of his system."

"Given our mother's outdated prejudices," said Sherlock, scowling, "I can't blame him for lying to her. But the minute Mycroft set foot in the door during Christmas holidays, he knew."

"Of course I knew. It was obvious."

"Obvious, yes. But not to her. And you couldn't resist the pleasure of enlightening her."

"I wasn't showing off. I was concerned for you. Times were different then, it wasn't unreasonable to guess that someone exhibiting one form of sexual deviance might be prone to other, more dangerous ones."

"Guessing is for fools," said Sherlock with barely contained anger. "You observed nothing of the sort, had no evidence for any tendencies in that direction."

"It was my responsibility, Sherlock. Mummy would never have forgiven me if –"

"And so you, who tore apart our family – who ensured that I would never see Uncle Rudy again, that our mother would shun him the rest of his life – you want me now to pretend that none of that happened for the sake of appearances. Well, I decline."

Mycroft looked over toward John, an appeal for aid written on his face, but John shook his head silently. This wasn't his battle, and if it were, he couldn't help finding Sherlock's position the more sympathetic one.


End file.
